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Authors: Rhys Bowen

BOOK: Evan Blessed
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“Perhaps he does have other bunkers in those more remote
places,” Evan suggested. “Or perhaps he just enjoys taking risks. I get the feeling he probably does.”
They both looked up at the tap of light feet on the vinyl floor and saw Glynis Davies coming down the hallway toward them.
“It's almost two. Where is the meeting going to be?” she asked.
“Almost two?” Watkins muttered. “I haven't even had lunch yet.”
“Neither have I,” Evan said.
Glynis smiled sweetly. “What a pity. I've just had rather a good salad at that new Greek place. Lots of lovely garlic and olives and feta cheese.”
“Shut up.” Watkins managed a smile. “Be an angel and go and stall Sergeant Jones and the others while Evan and I pop into the cafeteria to grab a quick sandwich, will you? Not for my own good, you understand—but this growing boy here has a wedding in a couple of weeks. We can't have him dropping dead from lack of nourishment, can we?”
There was a flicker of amusement in Glynis's eyes. “I'd have thought he'd welcome the chance to slim down so that he looks good in the wedding pictures,” she said.
“Slim down?” Evan demanded. “Do you know I've lost over a stone since I've been cooking for myself? And I've been up Snowdon and back already today, and I don't mean by train.”
Glynis nodded. “I'm impressed,” she said. “What was that for?”
“I took Paul Upwood to retrace their route.”
“That was smart. Did you learn anything?”
“We found her glove at the bottom of a nasty scree slope, right next to Glaslyn.”
The smile had faded from Glynis's face. “Oh no. That doesn't look good, does it? Do you think she went into the lake?”
“I think there's a good possibility she did.”
“I've already asked HQ for a team of divers,” Watkins said, “although that lake's pretty deep, isn't it?”
Evan nodded. “But it's clear water. Although a day like today doesn't make for the best conditions up there. Very thick mist. We could hardly see more than a couple of feet in front of us.”
“Lucky you found the glove then.” Watkins said.
“Very lucky. The clouds just parted at the right moment.”
Glynis looked from one to the other. “This rather changes everything, doesn't it? It looks as if the two cases aren't linked after all. She had an unlucky accident and maybe that bunker is just some poor twisted bloke's fantasy hideout. He never really intends to kidnap anybody, just fantasizes about it.”
“What did your computer searches turn up?” Watkins asked. “Anything useful?”
“Not really. No patients recently released from psychiatric institutions who might behave in this way, but then, as the man at the NCIS told me, this kind of crime is almost impossible to spot in advance. Most serial killers are model citizens, quiet, well behaved, and smart enough not to do anything that might draw attention to themselves.”
“Do we have any other missing girls on our files at the moment?” Evan asked.
Watkins nodded. “That's a good line to pursue. Not just on our files. He could have kidnapped girls from anywhere and brought them here, or he might have similar bunkers in other parts of the UK. Unless we're lucky enough to have caught him at the very start of his career, he's done exactly the same thing before somewhere.” He glanced at his watch. “Five past two. Well, Evans, there goes our sandwich.”
Evan sighed.
It was five o'clock when Evan finally drove back up the pass with Paul Upwood in tow. He felt hollow with tiredness and it was all he could do to force his eyes to stay open. He was conscious of the long drop to the lake on his left and the tour coaches, belching diesel smoke, not to mention holiday drivers, who had little concept of the size of Welsh roads, plus the occasional stray sheep by the roadside, but sleep even fought against these hazards. Only ten minutes more, he told himself. He would drop Paul off at the hostel and then he could fall asleep.
Paul had been very quiet, sitting with shoulders hunched, staring straight ahead of him. Evan guessed that it had finally occurred to him that Shannon might not still be alive. He was probably going over and over that last argument in his mind and was slowly drowning in guilt.
“It wasn't your fault, you know,” Evan said gently. “Every couple has ups and downs. My fiancée and I have some good old shouting matches at times, but we always make up afterwards and they're all over and forgotten. Couples fight about the silliest things. If something has happened to Shannon, you didn't make it happen.”
“That's just not true,” Paul said, still staring straight ahead. “I was supposed to be looking after her. You should have seen her on the
mountain paths. She was scared silly, especially when there was a big drop on one side. I kept telling her she was perfectly safe, but she wouldn't listen to me. If she really fell into that lake and drowned, and I didn't even hear her calling for help, I'll never forgive myself. Never.”
Evan couldn't come up with an answer to that one. He thought that he'd probably never forgive himself if anything happened to Bronwen.
“How long do you think I have to stay here?” Paul asked as they approached the hostel. “I mean, I want to know what's happened to her. I'll do anything I can to help find her, but it's really getting me down, staying alone at the hostel, having the other hikers looking at me and whispering about me.”
“You're free to go when you want to, of course,” Evan said. “It doesn't appear that we're dealing with a crime scene. But we might still need your help, so I'd stick around for a few more days, if you can bear it. Get out and do some walking if you can. It will be good for you.”
“In this bloody fog?” Paul asked.
“It will probably be better tomorrow. In fact, look, you can see the sun shining out over the sea already. You know what they say about Wales, don't you?”
“What?”
“If you don't like the weather, wait half an hour.”
Paul attempted a smile as he left the car.
Fifteen minutes later, Evan pulled up outside his red front door. Cup of tea then bed, he thought. He didn't even have the strength to stagger over to the Dragon for a Guinness first. He opened the door and smelled onions frying.
“Bron?” he called hopefully.
Instead of Bronwen, his mother's face peeped out from the kitchen.
“Oh, there you are, son. Perfectly on time, just like your father was. I'm making your favorite, liver and onions.”
“Where's Bronwen?” Evan asked suspiciously.
“At her own place, I should imagine.” Mrs. Evans's face was stony once more. “She did stop by, talking about cooking you some kind of pasta for dinner, but I sent her off again. ‘The boy needs good, wholesome Welsh food, not Italian muck,' I told her.” She turned back to the stove and lifted several rashers of bacon onto a plate. “Mrs. Williams was just saying this morning that you haven't been eating properly ever since you left her. Going out without breakfast and then having to pop across to the public house for dinner. That's no way to live, Evan
bach.”
“Ma, I live perfectly well. I'm a grown man and I don't need my mother to look after me.”
“Evidently you do,” she said, lifting the lid on a saucepan that contained cauliflower by the smell of it. “I don't know when this place last had a good cleaning. Cobwebs behind the curtain rods, dust on the picture rails, and smutty windows. If that girl comes over here as often as I suspect she does, why doesn't she take care of the place—that's what I'd like to know.”
“That girl, as you refer to her, is soon to be my wife. I've never asked her to clean my place because she has a full-time job and a house of her own to take care of. What's more, we've both been working in our spare time to get our own cottage finished before the wedding. Have you been up to take a look at it yet?”
“That place halfway up the mountain?” Mrs. Evans shook her head. “What on earth possessed you to think you'd want to live up there?”
Evan realized with a sudden flash of joy that the path to the cottage was too steep for his mother. He suspected that Bronwen had discovered the same thing and fled up there.
“I'm going to get Bronwen,” he said, heading for the front door. “I expect she's starving. Be back in a minute.” And he ran out before his mother could protest.
It was definitely a slog up the mountain path to the cottage. After the morning's jaunt up the Pyg Track, his muscles protested. He had just reached the flat area that surrounded the cottage and was pushing open the white front gate when Bronwen opened the door.
“Oh, there you are at last,” she said. “I was wondering when you'd turn up.”
Evan fought to give a measured response, but the tiredness won out. “Don't you start,” he snapped. “I've had one hour's sleep in the past twenty-four, I've been up a mountain and down again, I've been in meetings all afternoon, and now I've come home to find my mother has taken over my house.”
Bronwen looked at him and opened her arms to him. “Oh Evan, I'm sorry,” she said. “I've been up here all day, lifting heavy boxes and feeling sorry for myself and angry at you for not coming home sooner to help me. And of course you've had to go all day without sleep.”
He wrapped her in his arms and she nestled her head on his shoulder.
“You've had a bad day, have you?” he asked.
“Horrible. I worked like crazy up here all morning and came down to your place to make myself some lunch, only to find your mother in residence. How she had got in, I didn't ask. Anyway, she told me my services weren't needed and she was there to see her son got some proper food before his wedding. Then she went on to lecture me about how a man needed meat and two veg at every meal and if I wanted to make you happy, I'd better learn to cook. She even offered to give me some cooking lessons.”
“Well, at least she was trying.”
“You can say that again.”
Evan laughed at the double meaning. “I meant she only had my welfare at heart, however annoying she was being.”
Bronwen wriggled out of his embrace. “Anyway, since you are finally here. You can come and see the fruit of my labors.” She took his hand and led him up the garden path and in through the front door.
“There,” she said. “It's still lacking a lot but when that Welsh dresser is against the far wall and we find two nice armchairs, it will be quite cozy, won't it?”
Evan looked at the room, which had been piled high with boxes the day before. Now there was a rug on the floor, a little table and
two chairs in the front window, a sofa facing the fireplace, and a low bookcase filled with books running along the side wall.
Bronwen slipped her arm through his. “I know it's your house too, so I don't want you to think I'm taking over, or anything. This is just temporary, because I wanted to establish some kind of order here. But of course we can rearrange things the way you'd like them.”
“It looks lovely,” Evan said. “You've been working miracles again.”
Bronwen beamed. “It is beginning to look like a home, isn't it? And you know the very best thing about this place?”
“The view?”
Bronwen shook her head. “The hill is too steep for your mother to walk up it!”
They fell into each other's arms, laughing.
“We may have to do something about that steep hill, though,” Evan said, becoming serious again.
“What can we do about it? It's steep. We can't change that.”
“I meant we may have to bite the bullet and invest in another car. I really don't think my old bone-shaker can make it up here, and we can't always expect to go up and down on foot.”
“We could never afford a Land Rover. They cost the earth,” Bronwen said. “And the walk will be good for us. It will stop us from getting old and fat.”
“But what about when it's raining or snowing? What about if we start having children?”
Bronwen thought about this and nodded. “I admit I don't fancy carrying the week's shopping up the hill.”
“It doesn't have to be a Land Rover. Any four-wheel drive would do. Those English people who bought this as their summer cottage used to drive up in a Jag, didn't they? So we know it's doable.”
“I'd imagine four-wheel drives don't come cheap.”
“We are both working, and we're saving by living together, and we've just established that line of credit at the bank.”
“Which you just said you didn't want to touch.” Bronwen smiled at him.
“For a good cause.”
“Oh I see. A car is always a good cause for a man.”
“Bronwen!” Evan looked hurt. “You have to admit that my old thing is on its last legs. We need a vehicle that will make it up the hill. And a second car would be handy too, now that you'll be working at that new school. You won't really want to rely on the bus to take you up and down the hill every day, will you?”
“A car would be nice,” Bronwen agreed.
“So I'll pick up the local papers and we'll take a look at secondhand cars, and if I have time, I'll pop in and see our friendly bank manager to find out how much he might want to loan us.”
“All right.” Bronwen looked around. “You weren't expecting me to have cooked you supper, were you? I'm almost out of supplies and of course I haven't had a chance to shop.”
“Of course I didn't expect you to cook tonight. I came to get you. My mother's got liver and bacon waiting.”
“I bet she only cooked enough for you.” Bronwen gave a wry smile.
“We'll share.” Evan took her hand. “Sooner or later she's going to have to get used to the idea that you are part of my life, whether she likes it or not.”
He led her out of the cottage. The clouds that had blotted out the mountains all day had dispersed in a strong west wind. The peaks glowed in the clear air while occasional clouds sent shadows racing over the hillsides. A flock of seagulls rode the wind, their cries competing with the bleating of sheep. Evan and Bronwen paused to smile at each other in satisfaction.
“I think we've got the best view in the world,” Bronwen said. “I can't wait for the wedding.”
Evan slipped his arm around her waist. “I wish you had already bought that brass bed,” he said.
“Bridegrooms aren't supposed to jump the gun,” Bronwen said with mock severity. “You've only two more weeks to wait.”
“No, that wasn't what I had in mind,” Evan said. “I'm so tired that I could fall asleep this minute. I don't think I've got the strength to walk back down the hill.”

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